[x]

-truth-will you meet me in the spaces
between our fingers

become tiny
atom-like

indivisible, but one

(and all the smaller pieces
that don't matter)

trade electrons

become
heavier
elements

----

a hollow note
crawls up
my throat

when you
depart

----

twenty minutes to dawn
(i know this because we've been here before)
in this moment, and this thing of arms and arms entwined, called embrace
this moment on soft notsosoft ground sheets

this look

it's the same
and in this moment

this moment is again

----

and your voices
singing as the past
ricocheting off
ceilings and walls
that do not house me
anymore, i hear you
strum af

still living with, thenand i will be waiting on the corner of that street
the one we used to wait at five am for an hour
for that bus to take us 800 kilometres away.
all those years ago.

and when it finally creaks up to greet me, i'll white cloud these words out,

"tell me, driver, can you take me back to then?"

at least you don't speak to yours. it's worse.
couple that with still living with, then, it's super fine.
crawling through your eyes, effervescent snail lines
you can lick them when the hunger kicks in with steel caps

and when you finally creep up to meet me, i'll white cloud these words out,

"tell me, darling, can you take us back to then?"

it isnt really an island, butthis skin i'm in
it isn't me so much
as my toes
are my feet

my fingers are my hands
my eyes my face;
shoulders, knees
floor

and it isn't me
so much, when i smile
or cry, or fall apart
down splitting sides

it isn't me so much
these lips (that speak
for me) and i rarely invade
the privacy of my heart

but then i get lost, in
all the things that are
supposed to be (me, but
aren't), in who they are

and why (no matter
how hoarse i make her throat
with screaming after her)
she doesn't come when i call

I have I’s in the back of my hedonism.

When I finish there will be a river
Translucent and cascading

“I know

act out on another[i wish that i could compare
to the sound of a smile

remembered by your heart and
lying in your photographs]

light leaks into my eyes
so much so that i have to
close my shutters for

bright little seconds
until there is such a full stop
where my eyes are so

my eyes are so
tripled sometimes, when
i just dont get enough

i just get too much - sometimes
when my eyes are so, just
sometimes, when they are

i focus on the release quite
a bit too much, much more than
the diameter of an instrument placed

somewhere about centre. there where
there is movement, you can feel it
as it snaps closed, peels open

and crackles moving picture

calypsowhite rock exploded into perfect form
primary colours washing
back
the need to stay
in cities
near people

the quiet is a heart beat
muted for a mother's
anguish

the skulls
are not
crystal

the air
is not
new

but everything
is new

now.

If you keep your eyes closedI start, but I begin to faulter
catching myself on cliffs of wind chapped lips
gnawing uncertainty with white spears

(oh native tongue)
what's spinning you?

The bastard child that thinks I'm a yo-yo.

I begin again, only to fall into
the same too big for you shoes, same glazed (aspartame laced) over smile,
and you. you are... a

apparitionyou came.

a single thought etched upon the fingerprints of me
tainting every(even the smallest of them)thing i touch

i turn into tomorrow
as easily as i crack each vertebrae
up up and up into my morning face

you should have as many painful thoughts as you can before breakfast
(or none of either, at all, if either can be helped)

you came (as early as the morning following the night i so desperately wanted to drip into untouchable time)

gladly expressed as words unsaid

relegate your coarseness to a
to a need to
need to wake
to wake (thedead) up

it isn't as simple as the notion

we three plains of all

and just before the whisper

when you wish you had-n't-stringing your eyes with garlands of stars i
wish to impeach you, maybe impregnate you
with a will to breathe
(in
deep)

but what are you but an incoming breath
to me? an unapologetic zephyr gracing
my inner vineyards

ruffling the leaves with whispers

(i understand it
isn't so collapsible, and
i'm forgetting i forget
you)

but when the winds turn
you're a harlot, ruining this year's
yield of self
(importance and confidence)

and i'm understandably drinking
up
down
the vinegar left

trying to breathe in the lights
i gift you with - always

and i have only the stars
to thank,
the stars to blame.

i dare not.one day, one day i'm going to break and there won't be anyone there to catch me.
don't be silly
no, not the one that partially... completely destroyed my will to breathe. the other one.
right now i'm so out of reach of reality that when i open my palms i find clawings and blood
and i don't remember
i dug so deep just to focus away from
my chest? im still breathing? oh, you meant something else.
i don't understand the generousity, too much comes back with a want for boomeranging
you do? when?
i suppose i can't be sure. you can. course you can't.
i don't believe in that either, just so you know.
what were you trying to mean?
just so

two imperfect machinesI tell you love is not an accident
That (convinced) can ever be
returned
to prior states (untouched)
Gentle ribbons and plastic
disrupted from perfect
unknowns; give me imperfectperfects
anyday, and give me plastic
bones (that crack synthetic
sentiment). Give me vacuum sealed
flesh, juices contained
with intent (I can tell you
how to read into devices). Do you
say your machines move with grace?
I tell you, any other day (is
tomorrow, is
yesterday) is
today. And imperfect
taste is never impartial
on my tongue. I long
for the test tube warped
sweetness years relax alongmylips. And we,
two imperfect machine

by the action ofi opened my mouth into a yawn
to swallow your teeth, and your indecision
whole

your fancy shoes, they get stuck
in my throat, at the back
they scratch the letters of you

impure, they catch up on the liquid of
you: impure. my growl deepens into
wakefulness

and calm, it is indistinct between
the day, the night you felt warm enough to stop
your eyes

i close my breath deep, around each moment
every thread inside each eye lid, pressed against the
chest

it hears a threat in the heartbeat, tastes a threat in the tongue
a threat in the
light

erosion.

-everything's- better nakedi say thursday.
thursday is slightly frilly around the edges

which never compares to friday -
see-through slut and coming

onto saturday with purple silk
two cups of soft

but you are my hate
for pepperoni

for boxer shorts
with idiotic quips

(when they should
just be off)

making babies with
yesterday's collection

of clumped up
against the wall

songs that smile
better naked

between fizzy grape lips
(we were just doing our best

to play children)
and we did

all over the ceiling
all over the floor

rougebetter things are sleeping than awake

she vanishes out of doorways
as gracefully as grey
clears to reveal lips
you want to touch with the tips
of your fingernails.

just to see
if the top
layer comes
off like wax.

grit you have to peel
out from under, and wade
warm up to the elbows, lavender,
to get clean

perhaps you ought to pay
for winding your way through
the cracks of uneven

there was a story between those
sighs, those sites, the
angles of you, the fuse,
the spark, the dynamite

the debris

the in-the-pocket-hi(!)
erarchy

Lickingback the lid toa newmorning.In
side it's abit offwhite, littlebits of
I'm

eyes and itMost of what I know is false. Being eaten up by doubt and many individuals' self protection measures. Most of what I know is true. Spat back out in times to spit into faces.

Will you catch my words before they fall? Hurtle them back at my liar lips before I let them drip my forevers onto pages unseen

It seems to never matter

Your eyes drafting my humble beginnings,
my horror movie glass gaze,
your extraterrestial hope
Something so much more than this.

All I want is to know
what I
Want.

But there we go again, your darling liar, I hover
just above a sequence of events, nervous
to start the domino roll

We begin, begin at the beg

Shh... try again.collecting hollows in paper cup hands

sky peels back
showing crooked ribs

slow trace of rainbows down the drain
"fix it. did you fix it?"

stairway to a silent conversation
echoes continue into twilight
follow eyes into the dawn

misplaced phone calls
crushing blankets, soft socks

there is no use for disquiet

no use in being too quiet

whirlpools of thought materialise
dust clouds pulsing through this wind tunnel
"shut the door. shut the gate."

you press your numbers into here
write your name down

(Valleys cascading from leather pulled mountains
trees holding more worth in years than any sentiment of me-you.

Dry stretchings

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KarmaYou deserve all that I get.

and the hummingsthe gentle hummings and im not quite sure if they are there or not...

yesterday, the sky was beautiful in every direction. in front of me lay a dirty big expanse of mottled paintbrush water instead of clouds; a downpour was preparing for dinnertime.

to my left was the aching death of the sun in between shades of bright blue, with clouds as melting ice shavings in a snowcone, the sun a blinding yellow of sticky fake pineapple.

on my right there was an anomaly i havent seen since i was eight, climbing high into the Andes; touching lovingly the quartz i fished out from too cold waters in splashings of boots.

a back flip of colour across the

terminalgates closed
the present you gave me is coming undone

the present you gave me is coming undone.

i represent an air duct

i represent an eclipse

i represent a

you represent a figure eight
with blades
on ice

final boredom call

leaving soon

[i love you, goodbye]

[i never loved you]

[i love you so much it hurts, sometimes
        sometimes,
               sometimes,     sometimes
   , so
         me times
                                    s            ome time
              sso
                    met
              im      esso
                                               sos
                      meet me

TodayIt is all just wishful thinking.

tockI loved you 'til ten am.

PossiblyI think I deserve better, goodbye.

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too long too late

by ~saturnineguise, Dec 7, 2007, 5:49:50 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

it is a gentle pity

that i will never know you,
and you will never know me

too long too lateby ~saturnineguise

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2007-2013 ~saturnineguise

and there are so many of you, that i could have known, could have loved, could have laughed with

where are you?

which corners are you stuck in, sticky, your feet are too sticky

jump around, why don't you?

(longitude, latitude)

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

Mood: Love

~honey-spider Feb 18, 2008

i am here!

Reply

~saturnineguise Mar 4, 2008

i am here, sometimes, perhaps it is that i am always here, but i'm just not aware of it (;

Reply

`YouInventedMe Feb 14, 2008 Writer

pretty

xo!

Reply

~saturnineguise Mar 4, 2008

thank you very much! (:

Reply

~starsdie Jan 20, 2008

indeed

.love the simplicity

Reply

~saturnineguise Mar 4, 2008

thank you (:

Reply

~Inallgoodtime Jan 10, 2008

I think there is more to the whole mess than knowing the other person. I don't think I'd even try to 'know' someone. To know what they want and like maybe, but not them as in themselves, surely not that! That's what usually drives me away in the first place. But I'm a flighty raccoon of a man, not the rhinoceros that sits in a swamp of yesterday's heat.

Reply

~saturnineguise Mar 4, 2008

hehe flighty raccoon of a man is such a lovely way to be described i should think - far better than a creature that basks in humid filth. perhaps it is that we can only ever know other people, far more than we know ourselves, and in knowing them come to a quiet understanding of what we are. but in saying that, i still don't believe we can truly know other people, let alone ourselves. so i've talked myself around in a circle. grand.

Reply

~Inallgoodtime Mar 4, 2008

Well if your only representation of what a person is comes from inside you - as in yourself - and you don't understand yourself (which I feel is an accurate thing to say about anyone to some degree) than how can you presume to know anyone outside you?

Maybe the raccoon is swift and pretty, but the rhino is fat warm and happy.

Reply

~mesmeric-revelation Dec 17, 2007

beautiful simplicity

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